Kensington

My dream home is at its most enchanting right now. The Kensington Apartments are at the corner of Beach and Nicola, right down the street, so it's easy to keep an eye on things until I come up with the 3.8 million it costs for a three bedroom apartment. It was built in 1912 and is loaded with character-- high ceilings, classic wood trim, gorgeous recessed balconies. Right now the cherry trees at the entrance are loaded with heavy, full bouquets of blossoms. The vintage street lights that illuminate the main doors make the blossoms look like low lying clouds. There's a park bench at the entrance and if it weren't so late, I'd have taken the time to sit a while, to take in the fragrance of the flowers, the delicate scattering of petals on the tiled steps, the warm light and plush red carpet of the lobby. It's truly delicious. Lingering at the entrance, under all those blossoms, savours strongly of Paris in the springtime. I'm an extremely practical gal, but I can't help but give in to a bit of fantasy real estate shopping outside the Kensington. I don't think it's quite right to call it lust or longing, it's just an appreciation of a beautiful thing.

toast

There are days when I feel like too little butter on too much toast. It's been a week of days like that this past week. I've pushed too hard. Even I can see that. So, the question for tonight is, can I still be thankful for the toast?

bits

I felt pretty fragmented today. Fragile. Strained. Exhausted. And even so, I can name several bits and pieces that brought light into the day. So, today I offer thanks for (in no particular order): lilacs, leftovers, lemons, chirping cats, chance meetings, new food (kolachys), old friends, dreams, tap dancing, sequins, cheesy musicals, harmony, lint rollers, coffee beans, permit only parking, free lipstick, milk. Amen.

green

The thing I love most about spring is the green. Not just any green, the FIRST green. The first green of spring is the freshest, brightest, most eager green you've ever seen. Even in Vancouver where there's green all year 'round, at this time of year I'm blown away by those first young leaves on the deciduous trees. The symphony of blossoming fruit trees on virtually all of Vancouver's streets is impressive, but its beauty is surpassed by the bold elegance of those young green leaves. Each leaf is slim and fragile in its newborn state, but the collective effect of all this new life is breathtaking and vast.

I think a lot of people take it for granted, as if it weren't a miracle of nature that this particular shade of green only appears for a matter of hours in the early spring. (They grow so fast, these eager little ones!) It makes me want to stop the seawall pedestrians in their tracks saying, "Look! Look! That green wasn't there yesteday! Do you see? Isn't it amazing? It's everywhere! All those little green leaves!" I'd be glad to be judged a lunatic if even one person REALLY noticed the colour.

I saw this green in January once. It was 2001 and I'd just arrived in Viet Nam. The rice shoots were just coming up in the paddy fields. It felt like home.

sweet

I have the privilege of working with a class of eleven and twelve year olds as their "artist in residence". It's been an interesting journey for me-- trying to inspire heartfelt creativity, all the while fully aware that creativity is not something that can be manufactured. It's not as simple as, "Take child, add drawing lesson, see child make art." So I listen a lot, and try to show the students the beauty of their world, try to get them to tune their eyes to the art of life, and I try to give them tools with which they can both explore and express their vision of the world. Some eagerly grasp every tool I hand them, others clasp their arms across their chests in resistance, and others just baffle me.

We're working on a big final project right now and it involves doing one-on-one consults with each student. It's been great to see how the students have taken what they've learned about the art of seeing and put together presentations of amazing concepts with both text and visual components. In most cases, they've followed instructions about their "field notes" and reflections, done "mind maps", and applied the art lessons judiciously to come up with their final project. And then there's the guy who could be the Baffle poster child. He's the one who showed little sign of paying attention in class over the past few months, the one who didn't finish the preparatory exercises, the one who seemed incapable of filling in the blanks on the most open-ended "idea organizer" going. And his final project is amazing. During the one-on-one consult yesterday, I felt compelled to tell him that even though he didn't complete any of the assignments leading up to the final project, there was clear evidence in his presentation that he grasped every aspect of the preparatory exercises and the result was top notch. I think this shocked him. I'm pretty sure that as a kid who doesn't generally follow the rules and is therefore, generally, in trouble, being given credit in spite of breaking the rules is a rare thing indeed.

Most of the time, there's no way to know what effect your words have had on a person. You can offer a compliment but it might end up being deflected off the shield of a wounded heart. Or, you can speak words of encouragement but they won't be heard over the inner din of self-defeating thinking. But you carry on giving compliments and encouragement in the hope that sometimes the words will hit home. I found out today that my comment yesterday hit home. My Baffle poster child was so proud that he told his mom, and his mom was so proud that she told his teacher, and his teacher was so proud that she told me. In the words of my cool-dude-twelve-year-old-break-the-rules-artist-extraordinaire, "Sweet!"

Joie

I've indulged and it feels great. I opened a beautiful bottle of wine just for me. It's wine I'd typically save for a special occasion, but today the fact that it's Tuesday is special enough. It's Joie wine and I needed a little joie in the day. Don't worry, I'm not drinking the whole thing in one go-- I have a Vacu-vin™ to seal it up for further consumption on another day. I think that's a big part of the indulgence, actually-- the fact that by opening the bottle for just me I'm committing to having the same kind of delicious treat several times in the coming days. It's the gift that keeps on giving. It makes me feel special somehow, valued, worthy of a fine bouquet. It's quite possible that the pleasure from the sipping of a fine wine alone is really just a placebo effect. The pleasure may come from the simple act of doing something kind and generous for myself. Either way, it works for me. La Chaim!

walking wounded

Today I had a reminder of the pain in my ankle that I used to live with every day. I was out doing my bootcamp work out with a friend and she recommended a new-to-me position from which to do standing lunges. With the first lunge, I had a shooting pain through my bad ankle. It was a scar-tissue-impeded-mobility body scream and it really shocked me. The beautiful thing about the the pain was that it was a shock. Having experienced that kind of pain with everyday movement for so long, it was very familiar to me, but I hadn't felt it for a very, very long time. With the sting of pain still shooting through my ankle, I felt a certain joyful wonder that it had been SO LONG since I'd experienced that sensation. I paid extra attention to my ankle through the rest of my workout, but I only half expected to be as lame as I would have been if the same thing had happened a couple of years ago. My ankle is swollen right now, but I am not lame.

I carry the scars of three surgeries on that ankle. Doctors said it was "too good to fuse and too bad to use." I've had to give up snowboarding and badminton, but I can do a lot more than the doctors ever imagined I could, after years of careful rehabilitation and trial and error. (Today's workout move falls into the "error" category.) My tattoo tells a story similar to that of the scars on my ankle. It's a tattoo of an olive branch, symbol of hope, over my spleen, the seat of melancholy. I chose the symbolism as a mark of recovery from depression. Both markings speak of pain and both inspire hope. The scars on my ankle remind me to care for my body, the tattoo over my spleen reminds me to care for my soul. In both cases, there's a frailty I need to be aware of, and-- thanks be to God-- in both cases there's a remarkable amount of healing to cherish.

liberty

Many of my favourite people are under four feet tall. Don't get me wrong, I deeply cherish the relationships I have with adults, but the kids in my life have a particular knack for bringing light and life to my heart. I got to spend significant time today, in four different settings, with eight of my most beloved children. They're all kids I've known from their first breaths, which is something right there. They're so refreshing to be with! Here's a quick list of five things I appreciated in 'my' kids today:

1. What you see is what you get. If they're happy, they smile, if they're sad, they cry. They can move from one state of mind to the other in the blink of an eye, without feeling remotely disconnected.

2. They're curious about their world. They like to poke and prod and test things, as if life is a great big smorgasbord and it's an obligation to at least lick everything the cook prepared.

3. They see no problem with eating strawberries and olives at the same time. Really, why not? Social conventions haven't been etched into their behaviour yet.

4. They certainly glow when they know they've pleased you, but it's not their driving force. Their driving force is, well, whatever strikes them in the moment. They move from the thought "I wonder..." to action, at lightspeed. Over the course of the day, I could have documented a thousand such movements. What else could explain coming across a three and a half year old attempting to brush her teeth with a pink plastic comb?

5. They come up with the most elaborate and most simple ways to entertain themselves. Like this morning. I went to church with the P family, for the second installment in E's dedication service. With all due respect for the service and reverent words spoken, I got the biggest kick out of watching S (2.5yo) repeatedly jump off the front kneeling step, stopping after each leap to see if the quarters in her pockets had also leapt to liberty, and chasing down the quarters if they had. It was a one-person, self-propelled treasure hunt, and every jump was a surprise.

6. Continuing in reference to the sanctuary-kneeler-quarter-bounce-hide-and-seek game, I love that little S was not only completely absorbed in play for ages, she was oblivious to the fact that the entire congregation was watching her. It's not so much that she was "in her own world" -- I think she was well aware of her setting-- but it just didn't matter that others were watching. They could have joined in, or ignored her, anything would have been fine with her.

Thanks, my little friends, for demonstrating a liberty in the world that I can only aspire to!

dedication

She was God's all along, but today we had a service to declare that we agree to the terms.



From the liturgy I prepared for the dedication:

Within this gathering, we embody the different circles of care that surround Eleanor-- parents, family, godparents, friends, community. We may desire these circles of care to form walls that protect the treasure that is Eleanor from every harm and danger, but we recognize that Eleanor’s path will take her beyond these walls, to places and relationships beyond those represented here.

So it is that we come together to remind ourselves that as we care for Eleanor and walk alongside her as she grows, we need to focus our eyes and hearts on a God whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere. For by putting our trust in a God that knows no boundaries, our own circles of care are transformed, no longer walls but a beautiful blend of concentric circles-- overlapping, radiating, and expanding—in a reflection of God’s vast and eternal love for Eleanor and for each of us.

In the service of dedication, we put ourselves in the centre of God’s care and in that centre we both hold and release Eleanor. We pray for wisdom in our care for her and pray that she may grow to have a vision that is wide and a centre that is true.

heaven

It is a good thing to see a person loved and supported. This evening, a dozen adults gathered together to celebrate the life of a six year old. She had decided against having a party with little girl friends in favour of a party with "the adults that love me." We were invited to tell N what we appreciate about her as part of the gift giving time. It was very moving indeed to see that while we all notice and appreciate many of the same things, we each have special memories and particular things that we appreciate, given the uniquenss of our individual relationships with N. She listened patiently and attentively-- I think 'basking' might be the right word for it. The love in the room was palpable.

I'm quite confident we made a quality memory tonight. It was the kind of night you keep talking about, year after year. The love, the laughter, the ladybird stickers on every lapel (thanks to a four year old designer gal), the birthday crackers, the Tea Party theme cake-- It was all so perfect and real and ordinary and magical. The fresh, home-smoked salmon deserves special mention. Thanks to the collaborative effort of friends and neighbours, we all feasted on the most amazing smoked salmon I have ever eaten. I think, in fact, that the salmon tipped the whole thing over into the realm of 'a foretaste of heaven'. Yes, it was a glorious night. Thank heaven for the continued feasting made possible by memories of nights such as this.

tea party

Clearly, the theme this week is PLAY! After a long day at the computer, this evening I had the privilege of helping with the creation of a N's official birthday cake. This is the third birhday cake that J and I have put together and we're like kids in a candy store when we're at play in the land of fondant icing. Really. It's that exciting. Hey, I even got to make fake cucumber sandwiches tonight! J decided to make a tea party themed cake and this is what we came up with:





Yup. Those are cucumber sandwiches worthy of any classic tea party, along with petit-fours, chocolate truffles, and pink petal cupcakes. What six year old would not be pleased? What joy it is to have fun bringing another person joy. It doesn't get much better than that.

cornucopia

The horn of plenty...

A great morning workout-- Outdoors, birds singing, in the company of a good friend.

The feeling of satisfaction that comes from ticking off a bunch of little items from the 'to do' list-- Sometimes ticking of lots of little things can be just as satisfying as accomplishing one big thing.

Sunshine and cherry blossoms-- All the city is in bloom right now and it was all under God's spotlight today. Blue skies & blossoms everywhere.

Playtime in the park-- I was so inspired by my delightful soul friend, R, that I actually got down on the ground to roll on the grass a bit, for the sheer pleasure of feeling the grass tickle my skin and revelling in all that spring green. It was hardly the adult thing to do, but it looked like too much fun to risk resisting!

A sliver of a moon-- I love it when the moon is so slender in the sky you'd hardly recognize it as the moon at all. It's just the most perfect curve in all the world, glowing against the thousand shades of blue of a twilight sky. Glorious. All the better, I viewed this exquisite moon and twilight sky from the vantage point of a backyard hot tub.

Amen.

colour

It was colour day today. I finished the border on my first ever quilt...



And finished my design and initial stitching of a Broken Dishes quilt...



We had to make a quilt with just two principle colours, "pushing the range" of each colour. I chose pink and yellow and wanted it to look like candy. I think it's playful and bright and fun. Even the scraps are pretty.



The photos don't really do them justice. For instance, there are, in fact, quite a few right angles in the actual quilts (though I must humbly admit that there are some irregularities, too). In any case, I just want to make my solemn declaration that I love playing with colour now every bit as much as I did when I was six years old. Thanks be to God.

intuition

There's a childbirth education model called "Birthing From Within" throughout which women preparing for childbirth are encouraged to discover that everything they need in them already. Rather than dishing out information, class facilitators encourage parents to tap their inner resources and come to know themselves capable of walking through the momentous challenges of birth and parenting. It's a "trust your gut" approach, very empowering.

While I'm all too aware of the tremendous power of self-deception, today I found a fresh appreciation for my own intuition, my gut instinct. I make decisions all the time, of course-- through a process that usually involves a blend of thinking, researching options, writing lists of pros and cons, and listening to my gut. Today, it was all about the gut. I had a job proposition that I know I don't have the heart for, so I won't pursue it. And I know it's really not worth it to go out again with the guy I had a date with last night. (As my friend, D, observed, I've tipped from giving him the benefit of the doubt over to doubting that there are any benefits.) With each decision, I'm turning my back on possibilities, and it feels right, good. It feels like I'm taking care of myself. I feel like I'm trustworthy with decisions like this. It's a good feeling.

wade

The truth and beauty prize today goes to Joanna for her tribute to her husband, my friend & kindred spirit, Wade. Take a moment to read Jo's blog entry for the day at: http://schmoopiesophie.blogspot.com/2007/04/wade.html

Taking "truth and beauty" as a touchstone means both noticing and intentionally appreciating that which is good and lovely in the world. I give Joanna full credit for both noticing and appreciating the truly beautiful man she has in her life.

Tonight I went out on a date. It was fine. The guy was nice enough and the sushi was tasty. But driving home I got to thinking about Jo's tribute to Wade and was hit by today's big question: How on EARTH do you get from here to there? I'm sure there is a path from solitude to that kind of love, to the kind of relationship that is mutually encouraging/satisfying/challenging, but I sure wish I had a map. I'm sure that patience, vulnerability, risk, confidence and humility all have a role to play, but does it have to include dating?!?

now we are six

Tonight I helped celebrate a 6th birthday, with chocolate cake, cheesies, chocolate milk and Lassie. The "real" birthday party will take place once godparents and grandparents are in town, but tonight was a family affair and I got to be part of the family. After sharing gooey chocolate cake (with purple icing roses and Smarties™ accessories), little G (two) got tucked in and the rest of us set up for the movie. I had the privilege of the front-row-centre seat which included the privilege of providing a lap for the birthday girl, N, and her sister, S. Nothing says "cuddle" like watching a full feature Lassie movie with a four year old and a six year old on your lap! The entertainment was punctuated by periodic announcements of the time. N had received her first watch for her birthday and was proud to tell us all the time. Often. Pretty much every fifteen or twenty minutes. Equally adorable were the pronouncements of S: "It's REALLY dark out now!" and "We've never been up this late before!" and "Maybe we can stay up late with a movie EVERY year for N's birthday!" It was delightful in every possible way. How I love this family!

kindred spirits

"I am my mother's daughter." More than stating the obvious, this little phrase packs the punch of the undeniable truth that a lot of who and how and what I am can be directly traced to who and how and what my mother is. [This could be a problem, but I think the world of my mom and really don't mind being so much like her.] My mom felt she needed to call today to tell me what the latest evidence of this is.

We were, along with numerous other relatives, invited to write a "herinnering" (a collection of memories) of my great aunt, Tante Geb, to be included in a book that my cousin Afke is preparing on the ocassion of her mother's 85th birthday. So, I wrote my herinnering in Vancouver based on my independent experiences in relationship with Tante Geb, and my mother wrote her herinnering in Ontario based on her independent experiences. Sure, there was a bit of overlap on a couple of events, but not on all of them. And still, we ended up writing pretty much exactly the same things. We appreciate the same things, are touched by the same things, cry over the same things, laugh over the same things. I don't think this is 'just' because she raised me. Nor do I think it's 'just' genetics. I think I'm particularly blessed to have a mother who is also a kindred spirit. It's great to have people in your life who get you. If you happen also to be related, so much the better.

The other reason our herinnerings were similar is because Tante Geb is a kindred spirit, too. My mother and I remember the same things the same way in large part because Tante Geb crafted memories exactly the way we do with our loved ones. We're cut from the same cloth. It explains why even with the challenge of communicating across three languages, my Tante Geb and I understand eachother. While writing my little tribute, I realized that my identity as a moaike (auntie) is modelled pretty directly-- actually, exactly-- on how my Tante Geb was auntie to me. I might have said I came by my auntie talents naturally, but at some level I was taking lessons!

So, today I'm thankful for the blood connections that ring true on a soul level. How blessed I am to have a network of friends and family that includes so many kindred spirits.

P.S. I feel I should say that I'm also a lot like my dad-- and not just because my study is often a disaster zone-- but I think I'll leave the details for another time.

working out

It's been a couple of months since I've been to the gym, but I'm working out regularly. My "gym" these days is the seawall and the playground at Second Beach Pool. I will not be disappointed if I never again work out indoors, with machines, under fluorescent light. I get a full workout-- tricep dips off park benches, pull-ups on the monkey bars, sit ups off the picnic tables, squats and lunges across the playground, et cetera-- and get to do it all in the freshest of fresh air, listening to bird song, hearing the waves hit the shore. It's my own private outdoor bootcamp, without the drill sargeant instructor. One of the best things about it is that I get to see all the dogs out with their people for their morning runs and playtime. The owners stroll while the dogs get their work out, running and playing on the beach, tearing along the seawall walkway. I feel a bit of a kinship with the dogs-- we're all savouring the great open spaces and the wind and the sea, savouring it with our whole bodies. It's a good thing.

Tsotsi

I saw a heart-breaking film this evening: Tsotsi. Ultimately, it is a story of rebirth, but it is a heart-wrenching journey. I'm still processing the story, and will likely take some time to properly consider all that it offered, scene by scene. It's the kind of film that breaks my motherheart, makes me want to open my arms to every unwanted and neglected child on the planet. In addition to opening viewers' eyes to the shockingly inequitable distribution of wealth across our world, the story of Tsotsi dramatically illustrates the horrors wrought from the inequitable distribution of love. If it were just that, I'd be even more devastated than I am, though-- thankfully, it is also a story of grace. It's a thin, aching grace, and it is as painful as it is redemptive. Truthfully, I feel wrung out. But there is beauty in the story of one who comes late to love, who discovers his own heart in the unexpected call to nurture another. It's heart-breaking, but beautiful.

weeping

It's Easter Sunday. I was struck this morning by something I hadn't seen in the resurrection story before. I've always loved that Christ first appears to the women among his followers, and that this appearance takes place in the garden next to the empty tomb. But the desolation into which Christ appears was what struck me this morning. Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb to perform a final act of love for Christ-- to annoint the dead body of her friend, her rabbi, her hope-- and finds that the body has been removed from it's resting place. Other followers come to the empty tomb, but Mary is the one who stays. She stays to weep. By staying with her grief, weeping for the loss of all she had in her relationship with Jesus, she is the one to whom the risen Christ appears. To the sorrow of profound absence comes the shocking and unexpected joy of presence.

It gave me a fresh perspective on my years of depression, and on much of my own weeping over those years and since. It felt like a blessing on the tears. That hope can come in unexpected ways, in the face of great doubt and loss and fear, is a beautiful and miraculous thing. Who knows what hope might appear in our own gardens of desolation? May I have eyes to see.

full

It's been a full day. Yesterday and today my work revolved around the friends and family who gathered to celebrate J & C, the couple who hired me to record the celebration of their wedding. The wedding today was very moving, not only because of the testimony of the long tried-and-true love of the couple, but because of the clearly strong connections the two of them had made with friendships that spanned the globe. It was a "small" wedding, but everyone of the approximately 50 guests had a story to tell of friendship and loyalty and fun memories with J and C. It was an honour to be part of it.

Tonight I dined with my gourmet supper club. The first notable thing about that was that my dinner partner, M, took on all of the preparations for our share in the meal because I was working all day. What a gift that was! All I 'had' to do (it was great fun, really) was the plate dressing and salad assembly at the venue tonight. We made a fantastic sushi salad, in moulded nori bowls, fabulously garnished and very, very tasty. The main meal was slow-roasted lamb shank with roast potatoes, spring carrots, snap peas, and mini-cabbage rolls stuffed with mushrooms, onion and bacon. Dessert was pound cake and strawberries drenched in strawberry-sherry sauce and chocolate brownie "nests" with English Easter eggs.

I am full. I expect this to be the case for some time!

quilt

Today I made my first quilt. It's only sixteen by twenty inches, but it's a lovely, fun, vibrant little thing and I'm quite proud. I'll take the time tomorrow to take a proper picture of it, but here's an iMac photobooth version in the meantime. So, I'm still eleven years behind on the real quilt making project, but I'm on my way!

truth

I spent a good part of the day today feeling duped. I'd mistaken for truth words that, as it turns out, were spoken for effect. I went into an online dating situation that looked promising, believing that it was appropriate to take this guy at his word. The words (in the form of emails, msn chats, phone calls) were great-- witty, intelligent, enticing, charming, flirtatious, flattering. I ate it up. It seems I lack whatever mechanism allows women to see through this sort of thing. I think they call this mechanism "cynicism" or "heart of stone". When the angels were distributing dating gear, I must have stood in the wrong line, picking up generous servings of "optimism" and "heart on sleeve" instead. It has not served me well. Or has it? However much it hurts sometimes, I have to admit that I think I prefer an existence defined by optimism over one with cynicism as its starting point. The former may lead to disappointment, but the latter ensures it. So, I think I'll lick my wounds (again) and hope for the best. Though I think I'll reserve my optimism for something other than the game-playing freakishness of online dating.

soap

I got a call today from my friend, J. She was pleased to report that her family soap business just made a deal with a retailer who wants to sell their product through their web-based business. It's a business coup and she's thrilled about it. I'm thrilled about it, too! The sense of achievement is all the sweeter for me because I got to play a bit of a role in the deal. I've been rooting for them from the beginning, of course-- from the first night we spent brainstorming about names and recipes for the soap, through to my shameless promotion of their fabulous product, most recently at Birth Fest. The connection with the retailer who made the deal with them today was made at Birth Fest, in fact, and clinched by their follow-up and the fabulous professional photos of their soap that they could show off. (Yes, the pics are fabulous-- I'm pretty proud of them!) It's one thing to wish and pray for another to find success in their business dreams, but it's pretty special when you also get to DO something to get them a little closer to that success.

history

Tonight I had dinner with a friend I haven't seen for about fourteen years. We've run into eachother on the street a couple of times, but hadn't properly connected for a very, very long time. He lived in Prince George for most of that time, so it's understandable, but still. It's a funny thing, the way time evaporates, the way sitting down with a friend on a Tuesday night in 2007 feels a lot like it felt to sit down with a friend for dinner on a Tuesday night in 1992. Even though we'd both changed vastly-- really! SO MUCH-- there were points of connection that felt the same as in the early days of our friendship. I think it's a very good thing that while some things change so dramatically, other things stay the same. Trust. Love. Confidence. Admiration. It's the good things that last. Thank heaven.

ahead

I am behind on many things. I decided recently that instead of making "getting on top of things" a goal, it would be wiser to just learn to accept the fact that when you have as many interests as I do and as high expectations as I have, the to-do lists will never be done. And yet! Today, I filed my tax return. There is satisfaction in being 28 days ahead of expectations on at least one thing. Thank heaven for small accomplishments.

P.S. I am approximately 11 years behind on my plans to make a quilt. Just so you know I'm not going to let being 28 days ahead of schedule go to my head.

Power Ranger underwear

We all need our "power outfits", the outfits that make us feel put together, able to accomplish great things. It starts young. This morning I was treated to a mini-fashion show on the front steps of my apartment building. I was just on my way home from church as the B family was on their way out to church. H is a delightful girly-girl, three and a half years old. M is a precocious, equally delightful boy's boy, five years old.

M: Hi, Sandra! LOOK AT MY NEW SHOES! [Bounces on the spot to show off the flashing red lights on clearly new sneakers.]
S: Wow, M. Those look like super-hero shoes, for sure!
H: I'M WEARING MY NEW SPRING DRESS! [Pulls aside her sweater to reveal a pink and yellow concoction of floral bliss.]
M: THEY'RE NOT HERO SHOES, THEY'RE POWER RANGER SHOES!
S: Oh, better yet!
H: I'VE GOT NEW SHOES, TOO! [Wrangles her left foot out of the stroller to get dangerously close to my eye level, showing off white buckle-up dainties.]
M: I'VE GOT POWER RANGER UNDERWEAR ON, TOO!

And so, beaming with pride and confidence, the Flower Princess and mini-Power Ranger head off to wow their world.